


Bombed and Bleeding

by shatteredwriters



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce Whump, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e15 Bombed, Everyone Loves Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, POV Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Please Don't Hate Me, Whump, Why Did I Write This?, mash au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23321407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatteredwriters/pseuds/shatteredwriters
Summary: Only then did the ringing in his ears subside for a moment, just for a moment. And he heard the screams.Screams.Why were people screaming?Episode tag for 3x15, Bombed. Warnings: Some language. No major graphic descriptions of injuries or violence. Lots of whump!
Comments: 13
Kudos: 85





	1. What Happened?

**Author's Note:**

> A different take on 3x15, Bombed. I borrowed the premise of the episode, with the camp being shelled, but then I take a…whumpier turn. How could they write a whole episode about the 4077 getting shelled with not a single injury? I obviously couldn’t leave it there. Shameless Hawkeye whump, sorry not sorry. Enjoy!

His eyes blinked open slowly. He was lying on the ground and the air was unbearably hot. Where was he…and why was the sky all hazy?

_What happened?_

Mechanically, he sat up and the whole world tilted. There was a horrible ringing in his ears and a pounding in his head. Not great signs. He slumped back down to the dirt and tried to swallow the nausea threatening to overcome him. He couldn’t remember…why couldn’t he remember?

Only then did the ringing in his ears subside for a moment, just for a moment. And he heard the screams.

_Screams._

_Why were people screaming?_

He blinked once, then once more. There was the pricking of dust in his eyes, the dryness of it coating his nose and throat. He coughed, and tried to ignore the fact that it shot a worrying amount of pain through the right side of his chest. His headache pounded in rhythm with his heart beat, each thump sending a lance through his temples. He strained to breathe through the pain, swallowing compulsively. He just wanted it to go away, wanted it all to go away...

_Ignore it. Try and focus. Focus. Maybe focus on why you’re on your ass in the dirt? Or try and focus on why there's so much shit in the air, or why people are screaming...? Focus on something else. Something else…_

His sea blue eyes observed the dust floating above him. He watched the particles drifting and dancing, twirling in the breeze. There were even some scraps of paper, and some charred debris, added into the mix every so often. It transfixed him, rooting him in place. _That’s a lot of dust,_ he mused. It almost felt like watching clouds in a bright blue sky on a warm summer’s day. He used to love watching clouds, imagining the different shapes the formations made, tracing their paths as they glided out of sight. He could almost picture him and his dad, lying in the open field down the road from his house, pointing lazily up at the sky. A turtle. A dolphin. A dinosaur. The smell of freshly mown grass. The sun shining and the wind rustling the leaves in the trees. His dad’s hand encircling his as they walked down the road. His favorite blue t-shirt. His mud-stained jeans. His mother’s laugh…

Hawkeye pulled in a shuddering gasp, eliciting a painful coughing fit that left his head spinning and his chest aflame. He tried to focus again, realizing his thoughts had wandered…wait, why was he lying on the ground? He couldn’t remember.

 _Ah._ A sudden realization came to him. _He_ _adache, nausea, memory loss...concussion. Probably not serious. Definitely a minor one, has to be. I don’t have time for anything else_. Focus. _Come on._ He had to focus. He was lying on the ground, people were screaming, and he needed to remember. _Remember…_

_Focus on the things you definitely know. This should be easy. Okay. Name? Hawkeye Pierce. One for one. Where are you? Korea…damn, wish I’d forgotten that bit. Anyways. Two for two. He was a surgeon in the 4077th MASH. Check, definitely remember living in this hell hole. Three for three. He was here with Henry and Radar and Trapper…Trapper…Trap!_

His eyes flew open (he didn’t even remember them closing, that can't be a good sign) and he glanced around frantically. But he couldn’t see anything through the dusty haze settling around him. Where was Trapper?

 _What were we doing…? Surgery. Right. Definitely surgery, non-stop, lots of casualties coming in…We ran out of supplies! That’s right. Okay. I can do this. What next? We both ran out of surgery towards the supply room to grab blankets, plasma, and gloves…when…when a shell exploded! Holy shit, we're in the middle of an artillery barrage._ Suddenly, the heat, smoke, ringing in his ears, and screaming all seemed to fall into place, like pieces in a twisted puzzle. _The_ _whiz of an incoming shell, Trappers hands on his chest as he shoved him back towards the safety of the OR, the loud boom as the shell impacted, heat from raining debris, the screams…_

Trapper. He had to find Trapper.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as fear for his friend came to the forefront of his mind. What if Trapper was really hurt? What if he was badly injured, possibly bleeding out while he just sat here? Hawkeye steeled himself and decided to try and sit up again.

He took a quick inventory first, trying to find any injuries he might have ignored up until now. He could see a peppering of cuts and scrapes from the debris on his arms and legs, he definitely had a broken rib or two if the stabbing pain in his chest was anything to go by, and he could feel a hefty welt and a stinging cut at the base of his skull. But nothing life threatening, he supposed.

 _Trapper. Get up, and find Trapper_.

He clenched his jaw in determination, and on the second try, Hawkeye found himself upright. The movement caused the marching band that had taken up residence in his skull to reach a crescendo, and he had to force down the bile that rose in his throat. He looked to his left and saw nothing but dust, but to his right he could just make out the wall of the OR. _If you can get up, you only have to make it a few feet to the wall_. _Baby steps, Hawk. Quit feeling sorry for yourself and get to side of that building. You've got to get up. You've got to find Trapper._

With fear and anxiety weighing heavy in his heart, Hawkeye pushed himself unsteadily to his feet. _Three feet. You only have to make it three feet._

Knees buckling, his vision blurry, and with a hammering in his skull, he barely made it to the wall before collapsing down on to his hands and knees. Hawkeye retched, and what little he had been able to stomach from the mess earlier found its way back up. He leaned heavily against the wall of the OR, his ribs screaming in protest as he tried to catch his breath.

_Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper._


	2. Find Trapper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injured Hawkeye sets out to find Trapper after the 4077th MASH gets shelled. Chapter 2 of Bombed and Bleeding.

_Knees buckling, his vision blurry, and with a hammering in his skull, he barely made it to the wall before collapsing down on to his hands and knees. Hawkeye retched, and what little he had been able to stomach from the mess earlier found its way back up. He leaned heavily against the wall of the OR, his ribs screaming in protest as he tried to catch his breath._

_Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper._

* * *

He had to get up. His mind screamed at his limbs to respond, willing them to move. Every second that passed was another second Hawkeye didn’t know if his best friend was alive or dead. He had to get up.

He ignored the protest of his ribs as he pushed himself off the ground. He ignored the double vision that gave him enough nausea to light up the city of Toledo. He ignored the pounding in his head, the searing pain swelling from the base of his neck, the weakness in his legs.

_Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper._

With a pained grunt, Hawkeye shoved himself away from the wall and took a few uncertain steps into the dusty fog. The ringing in his ears gave way to an overbearing cacophony of sounds emanating from around him. He was surprised he hadn’t noticed before. There were voices crying for help, grunts of exertion and groans of pain, echoes of shells impacting nearby, people shouting orders left and right. He blinked rapidly as the haze thinned, taking in the damage. One of the buildings was what had gotten hit, some splinters of its wooden frame were still on fire. Hawkeye swept his gaze across the terrifying sight, hoping that Trapper was one of the few up and moving, rendering aid and transferring patients to the OR. But he didn’t see the tall, curly-haired surgeon.

“Doctor? Doctor? Are you alright?”

Hawkeye barely had time to register the voice before a young blonde nurse was standing in front of him. He swayed on his feet and she shot out a steadying hand, her eyes scanning him over.

“Are you alright?”

He realized she must have repeated this a few times if her concerned stare was any hint. Hawkeye couldn’t imagine he looked great, if the state of his uniform was anything to go by. But he tried his best to throw on a charming smile, hiding the pain away behind his carefree mask.

“Just peachy. I didn’t know we were getting dinner and a show today. Anyways. Gotta go, sweetheart, looking for someone!”

Before she could protest, Hawkeye had straightened his shoulders and walked purposefully towards the smoking remnants of the building.

The nurse shook her head and made to follow him. But he had said he was fine. Making a mental note to find the doctor again to check on him, she jogged towards her next patient.

Hawkeye stole a glance behind him. He was grateful she hadn’t followed. Pretending he was fine, even for those brief moments, had left him winded and light-headed. But he was on a mission. He couldn't give in to his pain. He couldn't give in to his exhaustion. He'd make it, he'd be fine. He'd be fine because he had to be. He was on a mission. Hawkeye focused on the goal ahead of him, repeating the mantra that had tormented his waking moments. He wrapped one arm protectively around his chest and limped painfully towards the site of the explosion.

_Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper._

* * *

“Trap!"

"Tr-Trapper!”

Hawkeye hollered, wincing at the rough sound and weakness of his voice. His progress was slowing; he hadn’t found him by the destroyed building or amongst the group of injured the corpsman were bringing in from around the camp. _He had to be around here somewhere. Think…we were headed towards the supply tent…Trapper had shoved me back away from the blast…maybe he was over by OR?_ He had looked there already, but decided to head back. With his vision ranging from blurred to double, he couldn’t exactly trust that he hadn’t overlooked something.

It only took him a few minutes to limp back towards the OR, but it felt like days. Hawkeye found his left leg getting to be quite uncooperative, a dull ache shooting up with every step. He could feel his energy draining away as edged closer and closer. The adrenaline that had kept him on his feet, and kept the pain from his injuries away, was dwindling. He had to find Trapper soon. He just had to.

Hawkeye finally reached the OR and looked around. They were still bringing people into the building, and he knew he would be called to help soon. It would be all hands on deck if anyone was seriously injured. He didn’t see Trapper and was about to head towards their tent to see if he'd gone there, when something caught his eye. There. Peeking around the back of the OR. The sole of a boot...

_Trapper!_

Moving faster than he believed he could, Hawkeye ran-hobbled to the back of OR and stopped short. The sight almost had him doubled over and vomiting again.

Trapper was lying face down in the dirt, arms outstretched ahead of him and his legs bent up, as if he'd been crawling. Beneath his torso loomed a stagnant pool of blood, reflecting the rays of the evening sun. A white piece of bone protruded from his shin, gleaming sardonically against the brownness of the dirt and drab green of his uniform. He wasn't moving. Was he breathing? _God, was he breathing?_

Hawkeye shook himself out of his brief stupor and rushed towards his best friend. The doctor was in control now, he was all business. His own pains and injuries flew to the back of his mind.

He stooped down next to Trapper and hesitated just for a moment, before feeling for a pulse in his neck. _Please, please, please…_

A weak, but steady beat drummed beneath Hawkeye’s fingertips, easing the pit of unease that had settled coldly in his gut. With skilled precision, Hawkeye searched for other injuries. Besides the sickening fracture to his leg, and some shrapnel wounds that explained the blood pool, Trapper seemed to be okay.

Quickly but carefully turning him over, Hawkeye tried to wake his best friend.

“Trap! Tr-Trap! Hey, you with me? Trap?”

No response. The only sound breaking the stillness of the evening was Hawkeye's ragged breathing. He tried to calm the panic bubbling in his chest as he stripped off the remnants of his jacket. Trapper was too pale, too still...he had to stop the bleeding and get him some medical attention, now. Hawkeye wadded up his jacket and pressed it firmly down onto the trickling wounds on Trapper’s stomach.

With a pained grunt, Trapper’s eyes flew open. He latched onto Hawkeye’s arm with a vice-like grip, the agony evident in his stare.

“It’s alright…it’s alright Trap, I’ve…I’ve got you. I’m gunna get you to post-op, okay?”

Trapper gave him a brief look of understanding before his eyes fluttered closed and his body went limp, giving into exhaustion and pain. Hawkeye was worried, but the thready pulse in his friends wrist assuaged his spiraling thoughts. The torso wounds were worrying, as was the obvious loss of blood, but it was the sliver of bone sticking awkwardly out of the tear in Trapper's pant leg that roiled Hawkeye's insides. He had never been good with broken bones. He remembered one summer when his best friend had fallen off his bike and broken his arm. The bone had been sticking out of the skin, and Hawkeye had lost the contents of his stomach on the side of the road. It really was a miracle he was a doctor.

Tiredly running a hand through his hair, Hawkeye sat back on his haunches. Debating. Thinking. He had to get Trap to post-op... _He could have at least stayed awake to help me get him to his feet._ With a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, he tried to decide how best to get Trapper up.

_Gotta keep that leg off the ground, so I can’t just throw his arm over my shoulder and walk him there. I could always put him on my back and fireman's carry him…but his torso injury…damn._ Huffing out a resigned sigh, Hawkeye knew he’d have to carry him in his arms. Like a couple on their wedding night. Like the leading lady swept up into the arms of the dashing lead. Taking a deep a breath as he could, already anticipating the pain, Hawkeye steeled himself for this next hurdle. 

“Why couldn’t you have been a 5’6” petite brunette?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive any medical inaccuracies, that's not my strong suit! New chapter in the works. So please stay tuned!
> 
> I hope ya'll have enjoyed this story so far! As always, likes, comments, and critiques are always appreciated!


	3. Best Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Third installment of the work Bombed and Bleeding. Hawkeye gets Trapper back safely to the OR before collapsing from his injuries. Will the two surgeons make it out alive?

_Huffing out a resigned sigh, Hawkeye knew he’d have to carry Trapper in his arms. Like a couple on their wedding night. Like the leading lady swept up into the arms of the dashing lead. Taking a deep a breath as he could, already anticipating the pain, Hawkeye steeled himself for this next hurdle._

_“Why couldn’t you have been a 5’6” petite brunette?”_

* * *

With one arm beneath Trapper’s knees and one arm slid under his back, Hawkeye strained upwards. He forced himself to focus on putting one foot in front of the other. He couldn’t give into the pain threatening to topple him every step of the way.

 _10 feet to go_.

Trapper still hadn’t roused in his arms, but his stomach wound was bleeding freely again. Hawkeye’s vision blurred as he limped closer to the OR.

 _7 feet_.

His breathing was coming in short, pained gaps. His ribs were moving sickeningly in his chest, compressed by holding Trapper so close to his body. The blinding pain from his head and chest morphed with the ache in his left leg. Every step was excruciating.

_4 feet._

Hawkeye wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. He had rounded the corner and the door was so close. Where was the swell of nurses and corpsman that had been out here earlier? Was there seriously no one around that could help him? But truly, he knew that even if someone was there, he wouldn’t give Trapper up. He was his friend. His best friend. Trapper had tried to push him away from the blast. Right before the shell hit, his last thought was to protect him.

He could tell from the blood trail that Trapper had crawled to the far side of the building, presumably to get under some cover. It was why Hawkeye had missed him the first time around, he hadn’t even thought to look behind the OR. If he had, maybe Trapper wouldn’t have lost so much blood.

 _2 feet_.

Hawkeye stumbled up to the door frame and, as gingerly as he could, maneuvered Trapper’s body through without jostling him too much. His actions caught the attention of the medical staff inside the room and they all rushed to his side.

“I need-I need a gurney! Prep him for surgery, nurse. He’s got multiple lacerations t-to the abdominal cavity...with a deep wound near his liver, bleeding freely. There might still be shrapnel from the explosion in the wounds. He’s got a-a fracture to his right tibia that needs to be set immediately. Where-where’s that damn gurney?!”

Hawkeye barked his orders through strained breaths and the nurses rushed quickly from the room. A gurney was wheeled in and he tried not to look so relieved at putting his charge down. Trapper was still thankfully unconscious. And he was alive. _He was alive_.

With a steadying breath, Hawkeye pushed purposefully away from the gurney and hobbled towards the scrub station. He had a stubborn set to his jaw and a determined look in his eye. _Like hell if anyone but him was going to cut into Trapper_.

Lieutenant Holmes, the blonde nurse who Hawkeye had run into earlier, emerged from the OR with another nurse in tow. She glanced at Trapper and then at the retreating form of Hawkeye. She could tell that he was more injured than he seemed to be letting on. He was limping badly, his arm was protectively holding his torso, and there was a nasty gash on the back of his head, matting his dark hair, neck, and shirt with blood. Lieutenant Holmes caught the eye of her companion.

“Go get Colonel Blake. Now!” she whispered agitatedly. 

The other nurse nodded in response, her eyes wide with fear and concern.

* * *

Hawkeye scrubbed painfully at his hands, leaning heavily against the sink. _You only have to make it through surgery, fix Trapper up good as new, and then you can lie down._

He was _so..._ _tired_.

He was used to the exhaustion that came with working in a MASH unit. But there was a new kind of weariness that clung to his bones and hunched his shoulders, pulled at his eyelids and dulled his brain.

 _Just breathe, you’re almost there_.

It seemed like for the past few hours (or was it minutes?…days?…he really couldn’t tell) he just kept telling himself, _you’re almost there_. One more thing, and you’ll be done. One more step. One more try. One more look.

He watched the stains of grime and blood wash away from his hands and swirl down the drain. Hawkeye willed the pounding in his head, the nausea rolling in his stomach, the sharp pains in his ribs, and the ache in his leg to just _go away_ for a few hours so he could work on Trapper. He had to make sure his friend got the best care and made it out of surgery. There was still a chance something could go wrong, a missed injury or a mistake that could leave him here, _alone_.

 _Just breathe, Hawk. Just breathe_.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he stumbled back from the sink. The room around him seemed to dim, a grayness tinging the edge of his vision. Hawkeye reached a hand out towards the bins with the masks and gowns, trying his best to remain upright. He didn’t even realize he was falling until he collided with the unforgiving ground and darkness took him in its sweet embrace.

* * *

Nurse Holmes, followed by Colonel Blake and Major Houlihan, were all striding up behind Hawkeye as he washed at the sinks. There was a hint of anger in Henry’s expression, but once he took in Hawkeye’s slumped form, his head injury, and tattered clothing, it was instead concern that etched lines around the man’s eyes.

It was a miracle the younger surgeon was even on his feet.

Henry had been frustrated with the disappearance of his two best surgeons. But someone had to go get the supplies, and the two friends dashed out between patients as the nurses were all busy. It wasn’t until the explosion rocked the OR, lights flickering and dust falling from the ceiling, and the two surgeons failing to run back through the door, that Henry allowed himself to be afraid. He and Frank had taken care of the rest of the surgeries, thankfully there had only been a handful more, and still Trapper and Hawkeye hadn’t returned.

Henry looked for them in the sporadic waves of wounded coming in from their own camp, but they were conspicuously absent. He couldn’t think the worst. He just couldn’t. When a nurse had come running up to him to tell him Hawkeye and Trapper were in pre-op, Henry felt his cheeks flush with anger. _Back in pre-op?!_ He barreled towards the door, prepared to give the two surgeons a piece of his mind. But his irritation dissipated as quickly as it rose once Nurse Holmes explained Trapper was injured, and disappeared completely when he saw the state Hawkeye was in.

Henry sighed as he strode closer to Hawkeye, already anticipating the verbal sparring match that would ensue surrounding Trapper’s surgery. He knew Hawkeye would want to be there, be the one taking care of his friend, ensuring nothing would go wrong. But with the outward appearance of the blue-eyed surgeon, there was no way Henry was letting him anywhere near the OR. Major Houlihan would be taking him straight to a full examination.

Just as the group reached the doorway, they saw Hawkeye stumble away from the sink and list dangerously to the side. His knees buckled and he slumped heavily to the floor, hitting with an unceremonious thump, and lay there unmoving. Henry and Margaret were at his side in an instant.

“Pierce, you idiot,” Henry whispered as he and Margaret turned the unconscious surgeon over.

He heard Margaret gasp, and he had to swallow the emotion building in his throat. Hawkeye was a mess. His face was littered with superficial cuts and coated with dirt and blood. The neck of his undershirt was stained crimson from his head injury. Large tears in the shirt revealed more lacerations, quite a few deep and seeping blood, as well as a sickening display of bruises on his rib cage. His left pant leg had a growing stain starting from the knee down; a chunk of wood was grotesquely embedded in his calf.

“How did he even manage to get Trapper here, let alone _carry_ him?” Margaret whispered, a look of surprise mixed in with worry.

The CO and the head nurse sat there for a beat, looking down at Hawkeye. He seemed so young, so vulnerable. If it weren’t for the streaks of grey in his hair, Henry could have sworn he was 20. Margaret shook her head and let her training take over.

“Lieutenant Holmes! Get me a gurney and a corpsman, we need to get Captain Pierce into the OR to assess his injuries. Colonel Blake will be working on Captain McIntyre, and you and I will be handling Captain Pierce. Let’s move!”

They all moved quickly. Henry gave one last look at Hawkeye before heading towards OR. The best thing he could do for the younger surgeon right now was save his best friend’s life.

Margaret and Lieutenant Holmes got Hawkeye onto a gurney with the help of a corpsman. The surgeon hadn’t regained consciousness with all the movement, and the two nurses shared a concerned look.

As they were wheeling him towards the OR, Margaret took a steadying breath. Though they were usually at odds, she had a soft spot for the Captain. It was unsettling to see him this way; pale, injured, too quiet and too still. She couldn’t believe it, but she was wishing that he was awake and perfectly fine. She'd even settle for a dirty joke.

“Just hold on. You’re going to be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, one more chapter to go! Hope you all like this story so far. Thanks for reading! Likes, comments, and critiques always appreciated!


	4. He's Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last installment of Bombed and Bleeding. Enjoy!

_As they were wheeling him towards the OR, Margaret took a steadying breath. Though they were usually at odds, she had a soft spot for the Captain. It was unsettling to see him this way; pale, injured, too quiet and too still. She couldn’t believe it, but she was wishing that he was awake and perfectly fine. She'd even settle for a dirty joke._

_“Just hold on. You’re going to be fine.”_

* * *

Hawkeye felt like he was floating. He was in pain at some point, he remembers that, but now he blissfully felt...nothing.

He wanted to stay here.

It was peaceful.

There were no wars, dying soldiers, or bloody surgeries here. All his dark memories and fears seemed like a lifetime away. He had nothing to worry about. Everything was bright, happy, and untroubled.

He was warm and safe.

He could just drift here forever…

But something nagged at him. There was something he should be doing...

A task unfinished. But what was it?

He had to find someone…yes, he had to find them and save them.

Save them...

Save who?

Where were they?

He had to leave, he had to get up and find them. _Get up. Wake up._

_Wake up!_

Hawkeye clawed towards the surface, sunlight gleaming far above. Too far above. The darkness kept pulling him back under, it's soothing embrace lulling him with the temptations of blissful oblivion. But he had to wake up.

Kicking, pushing, grabbing, struggling...

He had to get there.

He had to keep going.

Gasping and straining towards the surface.

He had someone to save.

Why couldn’t he wake up?

_Wake up, wake up, wake up!_

With one last push he surged for the light. After what felt like a monumental effort, he managed to crack his eyelids. The brightness burned and shot lightning bolts of pain through his head. Hawkeye slammed his eyes back shut, confusion engulfing his senses.

His heart was racing and his breathing sounded ragged and strained.

_Where am I?_

_How did I get here?_

He could hear someone walking closer. “Captain Pierce, sir, you’re alright! Just breathe. You’re in post-op. Breathe.”

Hawkeye tried opening his eyes again and was glad the stabbing pain had lessened somewhat. He blinked sluggishly and looked around. _Post-op? Why..._ Suddenly, memories washed over him like a cold bucket of water. Surgery. Explosions. Injuries. Trapper. _Trapper!_ Grunting in pain, Hawkeye tried to force himself up. He had to find Trapper. _Find Trapper._

Lieutenant Holmes could see her patient's distress and shook her head as he made to get up. Placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, she halted his progress and said admonishingly, “Now where do you think you’re going?”

“I’ve got—I’ve got to—to get up! If you—you’d kindly…move please?” Hawkeye managed, leveling what he hoped was a stubborn stare up at the nurse.

In turn, she gave him a reproachful look.

“You really think you’re going to just jump up? After being unconscious and on pain medication for 72 hours?”

_72 hours…three whole days?_

“You don’t—you don’t understand. I need—I need to…find…someone.”

Hawkeye tried to keep his voice and gaze steady. He could feel the pain medication wearing off, and with it, his injuries were slowly but surely making themselves known. But the mantra in his head was reminding him he had a job to do. He couldn’t sit here all day, wallowing in pain and self-pity. He had to find someone. He had to find Trapper.

_Find Trapper. Find Trapper. Find Trapper._

Hawkeye tried his best to sit up again, gasping at the pain that shot through his chest. 

"I...need...to...get...up!"

“Pierce, just settle down. Settle down!"

Henry had walked in to post-op to check on Hawkeye when he noticed him struggling with the nurse. With a roll of his eyes, he strode up to the bed and placed a calming hand on the dark-haired surgeon's shoulder. A pair of worried blue eyes met his own.

"Pierce. Relax. You're going to be just fine."

With a slight shake of his head, Hawkeye tried again to get out of bed.

"I...Trap..."

Understanding dawned as Henry's expression morphed from annoyance to sympathy. He sat in the chair by Hawkeye's bed and gently pushed him back down to the pillow.

"Trapper is fine, Pierce. His leg will heal, and his other injuries weren’t life threatening. You got him to us in time. Relax. He's okay.”

 _Fine. Heal. In time._ The words jumbled around Hawkeye’s brain as he struggled to comprehend.

“Fine? He’s…fine?”

Henry moved his hand to Hawkeye’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“He’s recovering faster than you have, Pierce. It shouldn’t be Trapper you’re worried about.”

Hawkeye knit his brow in confusion. Sighing, Henry fixed him with a troubled stare.

“You broke three ribs on your right side, had deep cuts on your face and chest, I pulled a piece of wood the size of my foot from your left calf, you had a nasty cut on the back of your head, and a pretty bad concussion. You’ve been in and out of consciousness since you passed out at the sinks. I mean, come on Pierce, you scared me half to death when you went down!”

Hawkeye blinked slowly. It wasn't all that bad, considering how close he'd been to the explosion. He was more relieved to hear that Trapper was going to be okay. Hawkeye opened his mouth, the question forming on his lips. Henry shook his head determinedly.

“Nope. Nuh-uh Pierce, no visitors. You’ve just gotten up! You need to rest, I mean it. Lieutenant Holmes is going to give you some more pain meds. And maybe, just maybe, if you're feeling better, and you stop trying to fight the nurses to get out of bed, we’ll reassess the visitors thing tomorrow. Okie-dokie?”

Before Hawkeye could protest, the nurse had put the shot of morphine into his I.V. He felt the warmth of the relief flow through his body, alleviating all the discomforts he’d begun to notice. His head started to feel too heavy for him to hold up and his mind got fuzzier and fuzzier.

“Henry! Henry! Is it true? Is he up?!”

Hawkeye’s heart leapt even as his eyes began to close from the medication. He'd know that Boston accent anywhere. His best friend in the whole wide world. Trapper. And he was fine.

Trapper came hobbling in on crutches, painstakingly making his way across post-op and towards Hawkeye’s bed. There was a steely determination in his eye. Henry got to his feet to protest, but the young surgeon just scooted right on by him and plopped down in his vacated chair. The CO could only roll his eyes. He knew there’d be no getting Trapper to leave Hawkeye’s side now. The two were more stubborn than his wife. Throwing up his hands in defeat, he left, telling Trapper to let the other man sleep.

The last thing Hawkeye remembered as his eyes shut was Trapper’s hand finding his and squeezing.

“I owe ya one, Hawk. Thanks for having my back.”

With a smile on his face, and relaxed for the first time in a long time, Hawkeye Pierce slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> Fingers crossed you all enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it! As always, likes, comments, and critiques are always appreciated!


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